My Russian Spy, OC x Dmitri
by ALostWinchester
Summary: Dmirti Petrov begins a definitive romance before Professor McChord approaches him about spying for America. This is their side of the story. OCxDmitri pregnancy story
1. I'm Dmitri, I'm Cosina

I met Dmitri Petrov in Washington DC, in a dive bar hosting We Don't Mention the Z-Word, a tremendously terrible indi-punk band I had decided to follow around the country because I vaguely new the lead singer and life was getting me down.

In the crowd, I'd been standing right next to Dmitri, and a very drunk, very merry young man was falling all over the place very close by to us. Hey, it's a given at a gig. So the drunk was singing along and acting like every stranger he met was his best buddy. Singing along myself, and full of adrenaline and base-happiness, I put my arm around the guy when he did the same to me, and we sang along together. Someone else joined and we had a huddle. The chorus kicked in and we masterfully parted from each other, turning to the others in the crowd. I turned to Dimitri. He sang along with me heartily and we shared a beautiful music-lover's moment. Then the pits opened up and I pushed my way into the thick of it.

I caught his eye again at the bar. Pushing and swaying and shoving was worse there than in the pit. I just needed water. He signalled with a pointing finger at a drink on the bar, offering to buy me a drink. I shook my head and made a 'W' with my thumbs and forefingers. He made a confused face and signalled for me to stay where I was. He had seemed nice when I first interacted with him, and he had these eyes that were hard to look away from (have you ever noticed how seldom people actually meet eyes?) and his jaw was strong, and his lips were full and well, to be honest I was in a state of chaos in my life and I had no rules or presumptions or qualms against this particular guy having what he wanted, if he wanted. He appeared and in a thick but clear accent he asked,

"You want whiskey?"

"What? No! Water!" It was hard to hear over the racket from the band. He got the attention of the bar just then and he asked for two waters. He passed mine to me and I sipped quickly to ask,

"Do you actually like this band?"

He shook his head, "They repeated that chorus four times before you appeared." I smiled my understanding, "I just had to get out for a while."

He met my eyes meaningfully and I certainly understood that feeling. I held up my cup to toast and he smiled amusedly as he followed my lead.

"Here's to getting out for a while." I shouted and chugged as much as I could before pouring the rest onto my head. I didn't care if I splashed onto people; it was sweltering hot! Dmitri seemed shocked and I blinked the water from my eyes before inviting him to follow my lead,

"Your turn."

His eyebrows gave away his disbelief and indecision but he lifted his chin and poured smiling at the ceiling. I wasn't going to take his hand in favour of disappearing, but I felt like we had something in common. I may have been projecting my bullshit onto him, but I got the feeling we were both sort of lost in life, with no definitive answer to who we were or what we were going to do. So I took his hand and pulled him back into the crowd, straight into the pits. When the pit died for a slow number, I leaned into him and his arm wound protectively, or maybe just politely, around me. It was nice. It was intimate.

I lost him in the crowd again, and my heart sank a little. It always does when I think I've made a connection with someone and then I can't find out what might have happened. It's probably for the best, I tell myself, but then I can't stop thinking about a chance meeting with that person again.

Would you believe I didn't get a chance to fantasise?

In the cloakroom queue, we were one group of people away from each other, and they decided abruptly to depart from their positions and hop further up. I stepped towards him as he leaned on the wall, fidgeting with his raffle ticket.

"Hi." I smiled up at him, for he was taller than me, as I rested on the wall next to him.

"Dmitri." He informed me, holding his hand out for me to shake. It was cute. I took his hand and answered,

"Cosima."

"Where is that from?"

"My family is Italian."

"Russian." He said, with his hand to his chest to indicate himself.

"I'd never have guessed."

"Do you live in Washington?"

I shook my head, "I'm just passing through."

The queue lurched forward so we followed.

"Can I walk you to your hotel?"

"I was thinking about going for a drink. The band's taking a break from the tour for a couple of weeks so they have a back room booked at this nightclub, and I'm pretty much here with them so –"

"You know the band?"

"Yeah, well, I sort of know the singer and she said I should follow them. You know, to help me get away."

"From what?"

"Life."

"Was life so terrible?"

"It's getting better." I grinned suggestively. He got the message and the queue moved. "Want to join us?"

"I don't know anybody." He smiled at me.

"You can get to know me." I promised and I went for it. It sounds like I lunged at him when I say it like that but, in my head I made a leap of faith, and I set my hands on his hips to help me balance on my tiptoes. His arms slid through mine to my hips, and he leaned in. We just pressed lips for a second, before, like we both thought of it at the same time, our heads tilted (the right way each) and they parted and we didn't stop until I felt the queue moving away from us. I pulled us into position, thumb hooked into the side of his jeans like it was the most natural thing in the world, and his arm resting at my back, thumb moving now and then to let me know he kept it there on purpose.


	2. Kiss Me

"I am here to study." Dmitri explained in the club.

"Why here?"

"It is the best place in the world to learn."

"Doesn't Russia hate America?"

He laughed at that. We were both drunk, in a booth separate from the We Don't Mention the Z-Word party. The lights of the club were up and we were all being told to get out but no one was moving; we could hear each other now.

"No comment."

"Well played."

"And what do you do?"

"Nothing."

"Ничего?" pronounced 'Nichego?'

"Say something in Russian." I grinned, steering the conversation away from my lowlife existence.

"Like what?"

"Kiss me."

He leaned in, and very seductively said, "Поцелуй меня." pronounced, 'Potseluy menya'. I scrunched my nose up and said, "Nah," before turning away. He laughed and pulled me back around to his now very familiar lips. We parted.

"I'll be in Washingon for a few days." I told him, kissing him lightly between speaking. "Can I see you tomorrow?"

"Give me your phone."

I couldn't help smiling like a goofball while I fished it from my pocket and I passed it to him. He dialed his own phone and showed me it ringing. I took my phone back and saved him as a contact as he did the same for me. I held up the phone to take a photo of him, and he pulled a face with his tongue out fully and his eyes crushed up, raising his horns in the hand he didn't hold his phone in. He held up his phone and I hooked my fingers into my mouth and pulled a hideous face. We laughed. It was all so easy and comfortable.

"I'd still like to see you safely home." He told me and I chewed my tongue,

"You won't try to force you way into my bed?"

"I'm hurt," he mocked me, hand to his chest again, head bowing and coming back up with a smile to assure me, "I am nothing if not a gentleman, I promise."

"What was it you said?" I smiled as his face hovered before mine, looking to his lips, "Potsely menya?"

"Close enough." He smirked, his hand behind my ear now, the other around me, pulling me against him.

It was time to go, and we gracefully (or as gracefully as you can while drunk) exited the club and hit the night air.

Our walk to my hotel was funny, we followed my phone's navigation in circles and strange routes into the morning. At least, as a hostel, it was never actually closed. As the sun rose he held my head gently and I liked to imagine the sun broke over the horizon as we kissed for one last time before parting. I was sorry to see him go, but I was sure I'd see him the next day. Sure, I was also nervous he would have no memory of me and a picture on his phone of some deformed idiot that would do little to prompt him to investigate, but as I hit the pillow I passed out and didn't wake until my phone started pinging in the afternoon.


	3. I Plan To Do You

"I've seen New York, Washington, Hollywood…" I listed the tour so far, and then the intended route I was to take when it kicked back in. We sat in a serene coffee shop, on the campus of his school, just the two of us outside in the fresh air. By fresh I mean cold enough to keep my scarf and jackets (hoodie and denim jacket) on but clearing enough and bright enough to put up with.

"And what do you plan to do while you wait in Washington?"

"At some point," I began, but caught my brashness and leaned in, "you."

He grinned at me and then coughed, "I mean, who can blame you?"

I hit him on the arm playfully and we leaned back into our chairs to laugh.

"What do you do to kill time here?" I asked him, looking around at the green and the grey, arranged so neatly and preserved so fastidiously.

"I haven't seen much of this city, or of the country; I study most of the time."

"Sounds awful."

"I like my studies. It's interesting, and it's relevant, and it helps to be prepared for the day I'm the one making history."

I regarded him then. His chest puffed up a little, his features rested in a way I had not yet seen, and with his accent… Well to be honest, it was frightening to hear. He sounded so driven and determined but without leniency, like a bull about to be locked into a china shop.

"So you're a pretty important guy?"

His hands came together, fidgeting and he looked down to them, checking himself before he wrecked himself I suppose. "Everyone in politics is important, no matter how big or small their title or their role is."

"I always hated politics in school. I stayed away from it in uni."

"I thought you said you never went to college."

"I studied in the UK. They have universities there." I smiled, a common mistake that was made in this country, especially with my accent coming from here and not Italy or England.

"What did you study?"

"You sir, are looking at a possessor of an Honours Degree in Global Cinema."

"What use is a degree like that?"

I burst out laughing and he began to apologise. I interrupted him.

"Exactly! It got me an office job at a media company that, to this day, I still have no idea what they claim to do to make money. I never advanced or gelled with the people there and so I took all of my holidays at once to come home and see my family in the States and never went back to the UK."

"So how do you come now to be following your friend in a band?"

"I saw her play near my home town; the band are from the UK and they're trying to break here. She recognized me at the end and we started talking, and smoking green, and she said 'just follow us; see America; get out of your own head.'"

"Green?"

"I'm not carrying any now." I smiled at him, amused by his shock.

"So what was so bad about being in your own head?"  
"Do you really want to know?"

"You don't have to tell me."

"No, I mean it, if you don't actually want to know, we can gloss over it and," I settled my hand over his, "see where we go from here."

He took my hand in his and stared at it for a moment before telling me, "I don't meet many people, and I don't get girl's phone numbers at concerts and meet with them… ever. It's strange and unusual but I like you a lot more than… I like you. Tell me."

I kissed him. Nice and gently.

"Okay."

I explained I was the youngest of nine. My parents pained over their first three, got lax by the next four, lost interest in the next two and so by the time I was becoming a problem, they had no approach except from support. There was no guidance like my oldest siblings had, driving them to good grades; good jobs; good spouses and now they were all having children. There was no creative encouragement like the next four had, making them creative and lateral-thinking and seeing them in weird jobs or as business owners in weird sectors. The next two have drug problems and prison issues, serving up to my family all of the drama they could need in life, and so I was… lost. I was always told, 'it'll all work out' 'you'll figure it out' 'when God closes a door, a window opens'… I grew up on television and the cinema, so that's where my studies swayed to but for what?

For who?

I didn't stand out intellectually, or physically or financially or socially. I'm a wave in the ocean doing nothing but turning the sand. I have no real ties to the world, and in uni I just realized I didn't even have a nationality to build on: I'm a dislocated Italian living in America, learning then working in England and I've not one real event in my life to look back on and say… Anything. I've been a part of nothing. I have achieved what feels like nothing.

I didn't tell him though, that the gaping void of nothingness in my reflection on my life and my self made me wonder what the point of going on was. I was as well slicing open my wrists and letting them flow out for all the impact I was making.

When I asked why he was doing what he was, he answered, "My father was a soldier, and his father, and his. It's what men in my family do."

Jealousy pulsed within me, but I didn't blame him for it. I smiled and said he was lucky to have that.


	4. I Wanted To Do Something Spontaneous

Tired, I left him after coffee to sleep more; my sleep pattern until that day had been dictated by the smoothness of the bus journeys and the level of the population in the hostels. Midday sleeping was prime sleeping compared to trying to do it at the conventional hours and so I agreed to meet him at his dorm for dinner. We had limited time to work with since I was leaving, an we had wordlessly understood we needed to make the assumed normal stuff, compact.

I turned up, washed, hair in a tidy plait out of the way, naked save for my heels and grey lace pants underneath my raincoat.

When he let me in, he explained that his room mate had agreed to give us until 1am to do what we liked, and get decent enough for him to come back in without embarrassing anyone. How kind of him.

After Dmitri closed his door, I opened the coat and stood by the bunks. He turned, just beginning to list dinner options but is jaw went very slack. He stared. I felt heat rise to my cheeks and I sheepishly explained,

"I wanted to do something spontaneous."

He walked to me, unable to meet my eyes for the inability to look away from the rest of me and stood before me, forehead on mine, hands resting on my hips. I though he might kiss me first but he kneeled, and I gasped as he pressed his face between my legs.

His fingers gently pulled at my underwear, revealing smooth, freshly shaved skin, until they were barely away from their position. He kissed my skin, and my body positively thrummed. His tongue…

He stood and pulled away his tie, kissing me fervently, racing my fingers on his buttons as I started from the bottom and he from the top. He held me close, pushing his leg between mine, pressing his sex against my hip as it stiffened. I felt the strength of the muscles in his back, on his sides, and pulled at his belt demandingly, grinning and pulling groans from the base of his throat.

He appeared to oblige me, kissing my jaw and neck as he undid his belt, pulled it away and unfastened his trousers. My hand shot to my mouth, suppressing a moan as his hand dipped inside of my pants, stroking the wet line at my centre, making his cock flex.

"Боже, помоги мне" pronounced, 'Bozhe, pomogi mne' he sighed pushing away his trousers, pulling his feet from his shoes and setting me on the bottom bunk. He kneeled between my legs, pulling my knees, and grinding his hips and cock against my sex, his lips locked to mine when I wasn't biting my own lip trying to control myself. We fought my jacket off from under me and tossed it aside, and I slowed out kissing, traced my hand to his cock, underneath his pants and gripped.

"Do you want the good news or the bad?" I asked, stroking his length, trying to ease the blow of the bad news. He kissed my neck and shoulder, sighing with pleasure at my movements until he leaned his head on my shoulder, surrendering control.

"Good."

"I take the pill, so this guy doesn't need any armor."

He started to suck a soft spot below my collar bone, his teeth grazed it as his hand pressed low to my stomach, thumb rubbing the spot my clit pressed against my underwear.

"And the bad news?" he asked.

"I haven't had sex for a while, so I might need to stop abruptly and flee."

"At least you warned me." He breathed into my ear, holding onto the bed above with one arm and pulling his underwear to his knees with the other. I got a good look at his torso and arms then,

Dayme.

I pulled mine away, setting only one leg free once they passed my knees, which I hooked around Dmitri and pulled him down to me. We kissed, trying to be gentle and failing as he shifted his knees properly and leaned around me, one arm across my back.

He slipped in like velvet.

I didn't run and flee. We didn't fuck like in the films or like porn stars; we grinned and groaned at things we did right and giggled at the squeaking bed and things we did wrong; we gripped at each other, and left little marks, despite the short time our first time together lasted.

I didn't climax but I had fun start to finish. I freshened up (what a lovely way of putting an ultimately unlovely act) in the en suite and returned to lie next to him, huddled close because my vacation from the bed had made me icey cold and his efforts had made him boil.

"So," I started, "as you were saying earlier, we can have pizza and…?"

He smiled at me, too exhausted to laugh.


	5. My Russian Spy

That particular night wore away into a loan of his t-shirt and jeans kept up by broken earphones as a make-shift belt, so we could go to the pub and drink some more while we ate chips and burgers as football occupied the rest of the world in the back ground. Our clothes leapt off of us back in his dorm, somehow, and we had a customary round two for new lovers, that was followed by long conversation in the lamp light filtering through his window and sleep in his arms and his t-shirt for the sake of his roommate, who was gone before we woke up the next day.

Only one day of that week went by without seeing Dmitri and when it came time to leave with We Don't Mention the Z-Word, I couldn't pretend anymore that I hadn't seen a vacancy at the hostel for a job. Front of house work.

I let We Don't Mention the Z-Word go, and waited for Dmitri outside of the class we had said goodbye in front of two hours before. We'd done our soppy teary farewell that morning. Upon seeing me waiting by the corner, he stopped talking to his friends and picked up his pace towards me. I think my feet left the ground as he held me and we kissed. You'd have thought I'd just come back from war.

My life suddenly was no longer in chaos. I had routine, I made friends, I had Dmitri and we shared the little things, like walking aimlessly in company, drinking a couple of beers to put a glow in our cheeks, taking unflattering pictures of oneanother and wrestling to delete them from existence.

I managed to forget that one day, reality would make itself known to us.

Dmitri was quiet, his mind was troubled and we watched television in his dorm together but he wasn't really with me. I wanted to ask, but I chose instead to let him choose to say it. And he did,

"My teacher asked me to spy on my country for America." He said quietly, even robotically. "I'm putting you in danger just saying so out loud."

I sat up and away from him, with no map to help me navigate the English language in this territory.

"You must be absolutely torn." I said quietly, realizing I was stating the obvious but powerless to take it back and try again. His eyes filled with tears that did not spill.

"I'm sorry. Forget I said anything."

"O-okay." I agreed, leaning back into him, staring at the tv but not seeing or hearing it anymore. My mind raced. Dmitri was so patriotic, so loyal and proud and just asking him to betray his homeland was asking him to betray his identity. Surely he would have said no? Did I know him well enough to assume that? If I did, was he bribed? Every man has his price, but Dmitri never seemed particularly interested in money; he had money but his head was in politics not economics. Was he blackmailed then? How could Dmitri be blackmailed though? Would they pull him from school? Damage his reputation? Was I a dirty sort of secret to him in Russia? Was being with an American damaging to his reputation?

On and on I circled.

We found a new pattern. I watched him carefully, unwittingly distancing myself from him while he became more introverted and strained, distancing himself from me and the rest of the world too. My friends at work asked, 'is everything okay with you two?' and I answered honestly, 'he's dealing with some personal stuff so I'm trying to give him his space'. We fell back into our old selves now and again, sex didn't lose its intimacy, we laughed and played and walked but we talked less and silences could suffocate us. We saw each other less too, and though I knew he was fracturing when I wasn't there to keep him together, I didn't know how badly it was until I tried to make light of the elephant in the room.

On my bed, naked, I inched down, down, down. As I teased his cock with my tongue I mumbled, "my Russian Spy" and he pulled himself away from me.

"Never utter those words again." He hissed in my face.

"I'm sorry." I tried, even though I was pissed off at his reaction; like I'd done something evil. He pulled on his joggies and started pacing, escalating to muttering to himself in Russian and then to scattering things off desks.

"Enough, Dmitri."

"I can't do it!" he shouted at me, his finger pointing, but he brought it back down as quickly as he raised it, "This bullshit is for old men who know secrets…" he started ranting to himself. He grew more fevered and I feared he wouldn't be able to calm down so I pulled on my underwear and a t-shirt and stood in front of him. He gripped my upper arms and pushed me almost violently into the wall, where he rested his forehead on mine. He panted.

"Stop it." I whispered. "I know it's hard to stop, but I need you to."

He punch at the wall next to my head and my voice broke.

"Do you know I cry every time you leave me? I don't know what it is, this has never happened before, but I just burst into tears like you're never coming back. Can you imagine what I'm like now that that's a real possibility? I'm not just being stupid anymore."

"If I don't…" he started but faltered until he could control himself better, "If I don't do this, my sister wont get treated for her cancer."

"I didn't know she had cancer." I whispered. He nodded.

"She's all the family I have left. If I do this, she could be alone. If I don't, I will." He held me properly then, and we embraced like we might fall apart if we let go. "And now there's you, and everything has been so perfect, and it could all just go away, and be replaced with blood and pain, and it isn't fair. It's just because I am where I am and my station in my government – military…" he trailed off and the gravity of all this – the burden he carried alone – started to weigh on me. He put his hands to either side of my face and held me so I could do nothing but look at him and after he kissed me he looked me in the eye and said, "I love you. No matter what happens, I love you."

Well I was mess, and I told him faithfully that I loved him too and that night we slept entwined, crying steadily all through to the morning making each other promises no one should have to make to one another.


	6. Just Tell Me When To Come

If life wasn't already drained of colour, Dmitri's room mate committed suicide and the grey clouds rolled right on in.

We sat, waiting for chips and burgers with beers from the campus bar, watching but not watching soccer. We spoke freer in this place than we did almost anywhere else, for here everyone was so absorbed in their own conversations that they weren't listening to us.

"He killed himself, because he was gay, and in Russia that's persecuted."

I wanted to say something comforting, but what? 'You're country is an asshole' was as close as I could get, and I definitely couldn't say that. He continued,

"He was a brilliant man. He could have done so much for his country."

I leaned my elbows onto the table, "Dmitri, I'm not concerned about him or who he could have been," I reached for his neck and touched it softly, "I'm here for you. I'm concerned for you. Please, stop telling me about him and talk to me."

He looked frustrated when I said that so I decided to lead by example, "I feel like I've failed as a human, because he's dead. I wish I could have known what he was going to do somehow, because I wish I could have talked him out of it. I wasn't even that close to him. I imagine you feel what I feel and more. Can you just talk me though the more? If nothing else, I can help his friend."

"I'm sorry." He sighed. He took a large glug and then my hand and he looked sick.

"Cosima, I'm sorry to ask this, and I don't want you take this the wrong way, but, can I have some space? After tonight, I mean."

I tried to say, "yeah, sure, no problem", but tears betrayed me. He moved in close to me, off his chair, crouching and pulling me into a hug.

"Don't cry, Cos', I just need some distance, I need space so I don't take anything out on you."

"I didn't mean to get all bleary eyed, I understand. Really."

Our food came and he moved back to his chair.

"We'll eat this, go see a movie, and I'll walk you home. Just give me a couple of weeks to…"

"I get it."

And I did, it was just hard to express that through the sudden bout of emotions I hadn't ordered. In truth, I had been wishing he would say it; he was in a horrible place and my efforts had been helpless. He did need space, and so did I. His life seemed a black hole and I didn't want to get sucked in to it. I could live with the anxiety of a half-break-up for a while because any change in the way we were living was welcome. It had been hard since he told me what had been asked of him, the strain hadn't eased despite our best efforts. I knew with me he tried, but without me he sank into it, drowning in despair. Only he could help himself.

So I gave him his space. I didn't call or text for three days, I cried every night and hardly slept and suddenly took up vomiting, which I knew was all stress and anxiety and being separated from him like this. It was all so irrational and spineless and unlike me. I'd never felt like this about someone. It was so hard to bare and yet I had to! I had to get over it, return to my old self again!

Well my heart soared when he broke our hiatus and his face appeared on the screen of my phone. That stupid face he had pulled when we first met. It felt like so long ago.

"Dmitri?"

"Cosima, how are you?"

"Can't complain; no one will listen." I joked feeling like an ass afterwards because of everything he _did_ have to complain about.

"The funeral is tomorrow and… Can you stay here with me tonight?"

"You know I'll come to the funeral with you if it's what you want."

"No, thank you, it will be full of Russian officials and…"

I don't know what he was going to say but my first thought was that if those officials saw him with me that might undermine his credibility. Either because I was American or because I was a nobody. Still, he neither said nor implied as such so I tried not to take my assumption to heart. He continued, "I can't stand the thought of being alone tonight."

"Just tell me when to come."

I bit my knuckle as I tried to stifle my moans as this orgasm seemed unable to end. In a way it was like torture and I would have said anything he wanted me to to make it stop and make him promise to give me another. He stopped, rising up off me, unwittingly displaying to me his strong body, to feel my muscles spasming around him. It tipped him over the edge and he closed his eyes, dropped his jaw and thrust gently once or twice as he rolled through his own climax.

I reached for more vodka, pulled another face as I did every time I touched the stuff straight and he took it off me to do the same, though without the face. He leaned down, pushing his arms under mine to cup the back of my head and kiss my nose.

"You're beautiful." He told me.

"You're not so bad yourself." I grinned at him, stroking the side of his head.

"Can't we just lock the door and never leave?"

"Just fuck like this forever."

He nodded and rolled away from me. I went to freshen up and returned to find him asleep. He had probably been as good at sleeping as I had been of late. I let him lie, pulled on his t-shirt and rested next to him. With the comfort of his body next to me, soon I was out.

When his alarm went the next morning, he was already up and dressed. He looked like a different person in his official military get-up. I hated it. When he first showed it to me, I'd though he looked authoritative and smart, and that base part of my brain that looks for a bread winning mate approved heartily but now I saw the burden of it. The betrayal of it asked of him. I saw its weight.

He kissed me before he left and asked me to stay one more night. I told him I'd come straight here when I was finished work.


	7. I Go To Russia Tomorrow

I had a doctor's appointment that day. The sleeplessness and stress was making it hard to eat and I wondered if I was coming down with something. Everyone knows when you're miserable its easier to contract viruses and such so when she asked if I was pregnant I had to think hard. Nah, I'd had my last period not a few weeks ago.

"Was it heavy or light?"

"They're always light."

"Are you sexually active?"

"Yes."

"Have you experienced weight gain?"

I had to think but it was hard to say, I really depended on what clothes I was wearing, and they were all different shapes and sizes. "Maybe."

"Have your breasts in particular hurt?"

"No more than usual."

"What's usual?"

"They're big and I don't always sleep with a bra on so when they move around they hurt."

"Have they hurt recently?"

"Yes."

"And you've been being sick?"

"Well, yes, but I've been crying every time I'm separated from this guy since I met him and he needed space so it has to be stress."

"It could be, but I'd rather be sure."

So I was tested. She made me wait too.

I was pregnant.

I entered Dmitri's room feeling sick and wanting to run away but powering through. I couldn't have been prepared for the sight before me. The place was trashed. Everything was on the floor and evidently violence had a hand in setting it all there. Dmitri lay on his bed, asleep and exhausted looking and I couldn't believe he had this added to his plate by the universe.

I lay in front of him on my side and he put his arm around me.

"I'm sorry." He told me, relating to the mess.

"Dmitri, I need you tell me what you would have said before all of this… America vs Russia stuff, what would you have wanted me to do if I was…" I took a deep breath, "pregnant. Because I'm pretty far a long, would you believe it and I need to make a decision."

"I go to Russia tomorrow." He said quietly, and I knew even this wouldn't convince anyone to not let him go. "I'm sorry." He added, with his hand over the place we now knew something grew.

Neither of us slept that night, and he was leaving early. We talked in dazed one sentences, only 4-5 of them each time. Overall he respected my decision, but abortion was something he struggled to feel comfortable with, but then he might not return from Russia. All the same, he gave me his professor's name and number, and told me if I needed anything, I was to go to him.

I suppose I decided to keep the baby in a bid to will fate to go my way. When his sister reached out to me to let me know she was fighting to have his body released to her… well she skipped the part where I get informed he has died and possibly in a most awful manner… I surprised myself.

I thought about going home with my tail between my legs and my stomach full and telling, but it just depressed me to think that way. I thought about giving the baby to someone else more able and secure than I was, but that was like giving Dmitri away. And then I thought about not telling my family until I was ready, be that next month or in five years (that's what they get) and I went to the citizens advice and got a plan together.

The doctor's weren't convinced; I was categorically depressed and they were worried about my low blood and sugar levels and all sorts of other scary things. They thought the best thing for me was family, which says more about the distance between my family and the traditional idea of one. So I chose not to heed their warnings, and although they may have afterwards felt smug and vindicated, I still wouldn't have changed my mind if I had a do-over.

I soon needed help getting somewhere to live. The hostel I'd been working in had been so good to me about the whole situation, supportive and even loving. Since I had lived in the hostel during my work, I'd had very low rent, food, and bill costs, so my meager minimum wage had been well saved and with the help thrust upon me by the manager (maternity leave, pay advances, old odds and ends from her sister's kids) it had all fallen into place so that I could at least survive alone. But I needed a stronger voice than a hostel manager's to co-sign a lease on an apartment. It was in the nicest part of a bad area, at the top of a four story block. It had only two rooms, low ceilinged and relatively small but it was just me and the baby I needed space for. IT was within my means to, so all the advances and extras went on to pay for all the throw-aways of looking after a baby.

I called Professor McChord and he was polite and amiable, even charming. He invited me to the campus coffee shop I had met Dmitri at after our first encounter and his face pales when he realized I was pregnant.

"Dmitri never told me." He started.

"He never shared much." I recalled, having to glean much of his life out-with our encounters from what he didn't say rather than what he did.

"I feel so guilty about what happened to him." He confessed.

"Why? You didn't make him go, did you?"

I gathered then that he did. That's why Dmitri had said to ask him if I needed anything; he owed him.

"Forget I said that." I asked quietly, feeling a little hate for this lovely man before me despite the little voice in my head assuring me he probably was only the middle man. "I would really appreciate it if you could sign this for me."

"Is anyone helping you with all of this? Your family?"

"They're not really in the picture. My friends have been great though. You know, I only stayed in Wahshington because I fell in love with Dmitri?"

He looked like he was trying to say something but floundered.

"I don't mean to harass you by that, I'm just trying to remember the nice stuff."

"He was a good kid." He nodded, folding and refolding a napkin. I could tell it was hard for him to talk about. He signed the papers I had set on the table.

"Lets hope his goodness is a gene he passed on then."

That seemed to make the Professor smile but it carried a weight to it I could neither help nor intend. I stood, only now beginning to feel burdened by my abnormal growth. We shook hands and I set off, feeling sorrier for him than for myself or my baby.


	8. Premature

The baby was born prematurely, and the doctors and nurses were in fits of fear and anxiety with every check of my test results and dialation. I thought I would cry and scream and curse Dmitri upside down on this day but when I got there I was at my lowest with depression. They kept asking if they could call anyone for me, or they went on and on about this little baby I would soon have. I didn't answer until it was time to start pushing, and with each push they learned a little more as I pushed out the life in me and me story at once.

"I am alone - because the father – died in service – to his – country and – to the world – and because – I'm not – close – to – my – family."

"It's a boy."

The doctor said professionally while the nurses looked at me with pity and apology for assuming I was some sort of runaway screw up. Well, I was, but not quite the kind they had expected. They had to rush the baby to the side. He was so small and weak and premature and I finally cried at the thought he might not live either. One of the nurses took my hand and put his arm around me to rub my shoulder vigorously. That was pretty nice of him.

I lay in the hospital bed that afternoon, looking at the ceiling and wondering what to call him. Should I name him after his father? Or mine? Or one of my brothers? Should I name him after some obscure character I loved? Or a songwriter? Or should I pain through name-meanings and give him something relevant? Like tragedy or unfortunate soul. Should it be Russian? Should I call Dmitri's sister? Was she even aware she was someone's aunt now?

I found out that he had almost died while I lay thinking about stupid ways to name someone. It was my shoulder-rubbing nurse that ultimately saved him. His name was Mikael, and with a name like Cosima myself I was partial to unusual names. Mikael it was. I didn't need to sign the certificate straight away though; I needed more time to pain over my surname or Petrov.

Mikael was in the hospital 2 weeks longer than I was, and when I was finally allowed to break him free of the place, I felt like there wasn't a proper welcome waiting for him at home. A mad idea came into my head and I followed it to the McChord household.

After being allowed to knock the door by security, a young woman with long black hair answered and relayed my request to see Mr McChord via the echoes of their hallway. I shushed Mikael with a bounce and he looked shocked to see me.

"Cosima?"

"Mr McChord."

"Come in, please call me Henry."

"Thank you." I beamed as I entered. How welcoming! He turned immediately to Mikael and asked who he was, automatically going in for a hold of him. He was gone from my arms and I felt relief flood through me; I was yet to grow accustomed to the responsibility I now had.

"He's so small," he whispered as he looked to the heels clicking towards us, "Elizabeth, this is Cosima,"

I shook her hand, "And this is Dmitri Petrov's baby."

"Petrov?" she asked, confirming.

"His son," I provided, "Mikael. I'm sorry to just turn up like this, but he was premature and he had to stay in the hospital and I only got him out today and well, just taking him home didn't seem like any kind of celebration. After I met you, you seemed like you really cared about Dmitri so I thought this might be nice."

Henry looked over Mikael to me with earnest and said, "It is, thank you."

"Come in, Cosima, Mrs McChord began, holding her hands out for my coat and indicating the rest of the house, "Have you eaten? We have some left-overs from dinner…"

Mikael was fawned over. I stayed almost one hour before I carried on, with assurances that if I needed anything I was just to ask. They had showed me a lot about holding a baby, and passing him to other people, and had told me reassuring stories about their own children.

I felt soothed. Even as Mikael woke me up to be fed or changed with relentless persistence that night, I felt calm. Mothers say they're so full of love they can't believe it, but I didn't have that. I felt like I had a purpose. It was the first time I'd ever really felt that.

It was amazing.


	9. I Love You

I was pleasantly surprised to get a call from the Madam Secretary herself asking me to come for dinner with Mikael. Normally that would involve a juggling act of Mikael and work, but I happened to be off, which in itself was a cheering thing. I arrived, as she asked, at 8pm, which was late for Mikael and I to eat but I made sure he was fed on time and I let hunger be good dinner guest.

"He's so big!" she exclaimed as we came through the door.

"Six months already." I grinned into his pram as I pulled off my coat and scarf.

"Can I?" she asked, poised to fish him from his sanctuary.

"Of course," I beamed, always eager to socialize him because selfish mothers scared me so much I did all I could to not become one of them. I started talking to him with over-excitement, "Who is that, Mikael? Are you saying hi?"

"Come on, Mikael," she smiled at him, "Lets you and I go see what Henry is doing, hm?" to me she said, "What would you like to drink, I'll bring it through to the livingroom for you."

I asked for some fruit juice and she set off. I admired the house as I walked to the livingroom.

Where Dmitri suddenly stood from the couch.

I stood still. I looked to him, then around the room and back at him again. I brought my hands to my face and hid as my eyes filled up and spilled over in a blink. I listened to his feet moving over the carpet, and was so sure I was hallucinating that when he pulled my hands away and enveloped me in a crushing embrace I jumped with fright.

There was so much I wanted to say but all I managed was to stomp my foot and say 'Fuck'. This made him laugh and part from me so I could look up at him and see that it really was his face. Despite our tear soaked faces he kissed me and I knew I couldn't be making this up.

He straightened his back and held onto me again just repeating, "I love you."

All I could do was say the same.

I spied the McChords and Mikael watching us, looking emotional and happy as they looked at the pair of us. They'd done this. They'd brought him back from the dead. I pulled myself away enough to get my hands to my eyes and wipe away the majority of the water away.

"Are you ready for this?" I asked him.

"What?"

"You have a son." I pointed and his head snapped over. Henry had Mikael now and he came forward. I took him automatically and Dmitri just stood over us both, his arm around my shoulder, his lips against my temple again and again, saying he was sorry and that he loved me and he'd never let anything happen to us.

Later, as the McChords had invited us to stay the night considering the overwhelming nature of our reunion, I caught Dmitri being shown by Henry how to prepare a bottle of formula for Mikael. Then how to hold him and feed him. I think it helped that Mikael was so pleased to have attention and make people smile. When Henry and Dmitri started to talk, I retreated back to the fold-down couch and lay myself down to rest. Really rest. Sure it wasn't going to be easy, Dmitri was scarred for life, I knew, but there he was, just in the next room, and here I was at peace while Mikael was being fed for a change.

Tainted as it was, that was the happiest moment of my life.


End file.
